


How Long You Walked For (til you got lost tonight)

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Off screen sexual content, Pining, Sad Otabek, Sexual Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9330515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: “Stop apologizing,” Yuri snapped at him. “You told me you loved me, and now you're just thanking me and apologizing. It’s weird.”Or, in which Otabek falls in love and doesn't notice when Yuri does, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from How Long by Avalanche City because I bet Otabek moped to that song.

Otabek was going to marry this boy. He knew it like he knew the sound of his sister’s voice and the path through the woods to get to his grandmother’s house in the mountains. He knew it like he knew the ice under his feet and the four languages he had bouncing around in his head, all screaming “He’s perfect, I love him,” at various volumes.

Yuri Plisetsky was sitting across the table from him, in a small café that smelled like slightly burn pastry, talking about his kitten at home that he missed so much with a smile on his face that nearly closed his emerald green eyes. _‘I’m going to marry him,’_ Otabek thought dreamily, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed at this improbable boy across from him.

Less than an hour later, their not-date was being crashed, and Phichit was announcing Viktor and Katsuki’s engagement to the small restaurant.

“I don’t know why they think getting married will change anything,” Yuri grumbled just to him, leaning into his side to do so. “It’s just stupid, that’s what it is. Marriage is stupid.” Otabek kept clapping, though his face was blank and there was a small knot of tension forming in his stomach.

 _‘Baby steps,’_ he thought, and focused on being his friend. When he walked him to his hotel room door and Yuri invited him in to watch reality TV and braid each other’s hair, he still counted himself pretty luck.

 

.--. --- ... - .--. --- -. . / - .... . / .-- . -.. -.. .. -. --. / ...- --- .-- ...

 

At the banquet, the two boys were posted up by one of the champagne tables, Yuri exhausted from being congratulated so much, and Otabek from so many condolences. Viktor and Yuuri were slow dancing along side JJ and Isabella, and Mila had just pulled Sara onto the floor. Otabek’s palm was sweating around his third glass of champagne. He set it down, and turned to Yuri, about to ask him to dance.

“Ugh, look at them, all mooning over each other,” Yuri complained. “Don’t they understand this is a professional event?”

“I’m surprised you care about that,” Otabek commented, picking his glass back up and downing it, trying to cover up his disappointment.

“I mean, I don’t. But if they’re not going to pay attention to me, the _winner_ , then they might as well pay attention to the donors.” Otabek laughed at his grumpy kitten, and when Yuri smirked at him he thought that maybe that was enough for now.

 

-.-. .- -. -.-. . .-.. / - .... . / ..-. .. .-. ... - / -.. .- -. -.-. .

 

“Have you seen Leo and Gaung-Hong on instagram?” Yuri asked one day after practice, the scowl on his face translating easily through his words, even across hundreds of miles.

“Yeah, I’ve seen them,” Otabek said, the smallest smile on his face as he pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he made dinner.

“They’re so pathetic,” Yuri whined and Otabek flinched, just the slightest bit.

“They miss each other,” he defended. He’d always liked Leo. He wasn’t too talkative and he liked music. Otabek liked that in a person.

“That doesn’t mean they have to plaster it all over the Internet. We miss each other and we don’t do gross shit like that,” Yuri huffed, and Otabek thought he heard the slam of a locker door. It helped, knowing that Yuri hadn’t even waited to leave the rink before calling him. “I swear if Guang-Hong comments on another one of Leo’s pictures with nothing but hearts, I’m going to say something.”

“Really?” Otabek indulged. “What are you going to say?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” Yuri grumbled. “But it will be good.”

“Tell me when you think of it,” he said, and closed the tab on his laptop that had Yuri’s insta page pulled up. He needed to focus on his recipe anyway.

 

-.-. .-. ..- -- .--. .-.. . / - .... . / .-.. --- ...- . / .-.. . - - . .-. ...

 

**Yuratchka**

| You know you I think is not horrible?

| Seung Gil. He takes the sport seriously and doesn’t waste time with all this skater bonding bullshit Phichit is always pushing on us.

 

| That does sound like someone you’d be friends with.

| Maybe you should message him.

 

**Yuratchka**

| Don’t be stupid, I’ve got you. I don’t need anyone else.

 

Otabek did the mature thing and did not throw his phone clear across the room. He sent back thumbs up emoji and picked up his gym bag. He wanted to hit something.

 

.... . / -. . ...- . .-. / ... - --- --- -.. / .- / -.-. .... .- -. -.-. .

 

They Skyped, and about a third of their daily conversations were about whatever disgusting thing Viktor and Katsu had been caught doing. Otabek smiled every time Yuri called other Yuuri that, Katsu being short for Katsudon, not Katsuki, for reasons that Yuri never explained beyond calling the other skater a fat pig. Otabek had seen Katsuki Yuuri base for Christophe on a pole, so he wasn’t sure where he got ‘fat’ from.

He made sure to find amusement in these little inconsistencies in Yuri’s narration of his life living with the two lovebirds. They made up for a little bruises each of Yuri’s snorts inflicted on him.

Apparently handholding was lame and just a great way to get really sweaty hands. Kissing on the forehead was definitely out, and he didn’t know if it was the sound with which Viktor kissed Katsu’s cheeks or the act itself, but it constantly horrified Yuri as well. Yuri didn’t seem to understand the appeal of cuddling or pet names. He was especially disgusted when Katsu wore one of Viktor’s sweaters and Otabek nodded along and hummed in sympathy all the while crumpling up the sketch he’d drawn of Yuri in his Kazakh jacket and cat ears.

He was almost glad that they didn’t get to see each other often. It gave him more time to reframe his expectations, to get used to the idea that Yuri didn’t like any of the things he did. He would probably never hold his hand. That was fine, he had kind of sweaty hands anyway. Especially around the younger boy. He didn’t want to kiss and cuddle, that’s totally fine, too. Yuri was still growing into his new, adult body and puberty was stretching him like taffy. Otabek was sure any attempt at cuddling would be met with flailing, sharp elbows and knobby, aching knees. And besides, Otabek kissed Yuri plenty, in his head and in his dreams. Every night before he went to bed, he imagined the soft press of his lips, imagined whispering sweet words for sweet dreams and falling asleep in each other’s arms. That was enough.

Maybe they wouldn’t get married, or move in together or even really date. Otabek could stomach that, could get over that.

Because for every little thing Yuri told him he didn’t like, he told him something he did.

Yuri was a morning person and liked running as the sun came up, he felt like he could feel the whole world waking up with it. He didn’t like coffee but would drink it in front of Viktor, black and bitter, just to look cool. He liked the burn of vodka too much but never got too drunk, always afraid he might say something he’d regret to Katsu or Yakov. His favorite part about living with the engaged couple was how well his cat and Makkachin got along. And Viktor’s banana pancakes. And the Japanese food he missed from Hasetsu. Yuri told him about the Nishigori triplets and how they were like little sisters. He told him about how he worried about his grandfather’s health and resented his mother’s absenteeism.

For every reason he gave Otabek to give up, he gave him twice as many to stay. Otabek knew that maybe someone else, someone not Yuri, might love him differently, in all the ways he liked. But that wouldn’t stop the way his heart started pounding every time his snapchat notification lit up his screen, the background of which was Yuri’s insta post posing with the lion. There was no stopping his heart, not when it was so sure about Yuri. His empty hands and empty shirts could handle it.

They saw each other a few times, in the next two years or so, but never for very long. Competitions came and went and the two of them always made time for a day together if they were in the same city. Otabek started renting motorbikes as often as he could, selfishly forcing Yuri to wrap his arms around his waist, memorizing the feeling of the other skater sitting tight against him. They sat and talked, or walked and shopped, and it was all so much better than through a screen.

By the time the next grand prix series was about to begin, Otabek was without a coach again but working extra hard to secure a spot on the podium this year, after missing out yet again in the last series, though he’s placed very well at Worlds. Yuri, for all that he scoffed at affection, was a fiercely loyal friend, critiquing him when he could, defending him when he had to. Otabek knew that Yuri wasn’t in love with him. But being his best friend was a privilege all his own.

The both won golds at their first qualifying cups, coming together at Skate Canada to battle it out for gold there. Otabek managed to best him by two points, but he had been trying his hardest, exhausting himself for the privilege of Yuri’s competitive smirk. When the final arrived, Katsuki Yuuri would not be beat for a third year in a row, but Otabek thought Yuri looked just as dazzling in silver.

That night, Otabek brought a slightly tipsy Yuri to his room, the both of them leaning against each other more than they truly needed to, but happy to blame it on the lingering taste of alcohol in their throats. Otabek had wrapped his friend in a rare hug, whispering a final congratulations before turning to head to the elevator and his own room. Yuri grabbed him by the bronze medal still hanging against his chest. He opened the door smoothly with his other hand and towed him backwards into the room.

“What are you doing, Yuri, it’s late,” he protested feebly, following the other boy easily.

“Oh, responsible Otabek,” Yuri mocked him, making a silly face that made his friend laugh out loud. “You just medaled at the Grand Prix, celebrate for a little, you old man,” he exclaimed happily, a bubbly laugh popping from his chest, the silver on it apparently not weighing down his spirits in the slightest.

“What did you have in mind?” Otabek teased, knowing Yuri’s usual idea of fun was watching the Jersey Shore and playing with his cat.

The Russian’s gaze went dark and mischievous, and he took a few slow steps into the older boy’s space. Yuri was already a couple inches taller than him. He tried not to think about how much he liked that.

“I can think of a few things,” Yuri said, his voice low and just a little bit nervous, looking at him through his blond lashes. Otabek’s mouth went dry and he felt his eyes widen comically, unable to control them, too shocked by what Yuri seemed to be insinuating. “C’mon,” he continued, another step bringing them chest to chest, their medals clinking between them. “Don’t you want to celebrate with me?”

“Yuri,” he began, voice broken already. The younger skater silenced him with a kiss. It was fast and firm and exactly like Otabek had always imagined their first kiss would be. Except it was over far too soon, the other boy pulling back again to smirk at him.

“I know how you look at me, now that I’m older,” he said. His hands came to rest on Otabek’s waist and he felt better knowing that they were shaking slightly. “Celebrate with me,” he whispered in his ear, his lips brushing his cheek in a mockery of the kiss he would never receive. “I want you, Beka.”

The dams broke at Otabek heard the words he’d never let himself imagine, and he didn’t care that they weren’t exactly what he wanted, they were enough and more than he ever thought he’d get. He kissed him, desperately and hungrily, like he was trying to crawl inside his skin. He fisted both hands in his long hair, holding his lips against his, walking him back towards the bed.

“Take your clothes off,” Yuri ordered, shoving him away just far enough for him to pull his jacket off. Otabek did as he asked, attacking the buttons on his shirt while leaning back over their moving hands and arms to kiss him again, already addicted to his lips. He started divesting himself of his suit, leaving the expensive clothes haphazardly on the floor. He landed heavily against Yuri on the bed, his pale skin looking even more delicate against his darker tone. Their medals fell together against Yuri’s stomach. Otabek moved to slip his off his head.

“No,” Yuri stopped him, a wicked grin on his fey-like features. “Leave the medal on.”

 

He woke to the feeling of hair in his mouth. He smacked his lips twice, coming back to the world in pieces. And as those pieces began forming the picture of Yuri Plisetsky, the love of his life, writhing under him, desperately fucking his cock against the groove of his abs, coming with a near scream as Otabek sunk his teeth into his shoulder and growled three unmistakable words, he woke up with a smile on his face. He opened his eyes to see a blond head sharing his pillow. Or rather, he saw that he had stolen half of the pillow and pressed his mouth against the back of his neck, wrapping around the other boy.

The feeling of Yuri’s back fitted perfectly against his chest was more exquisite than those long, beautiful fingers stroking his cock, or the hungry caress of that sharp tongue in his mouth. Otabek had thrown an arm over his narrow waist in sleep, and shoved a knee between the Russian’s thighs, tangling them together. Otabek’s other arm, under his head, was quite asleep, but that didn’t matter nearly as much as the press of his hand tenderly over Yuri’s heart, holding them together. He snuggled closer, inhaling deeply the smell of Yuri’s shampoo and humming contentedly as he held the boy against him.

It was only as sleep drifted further from his mind that he realized how rigidly Yuri was lying under his arm. How he was breathing carefully and his shoulders were drawn tight with tension. It was only when Otabek flexed his arm gently against him and Yuri let out a quiet huff that he realized that this was all for his benefit.

Yuri didn’t want to lay here and be cuddled. Yuri didn’t want the back of his neck kissed and his hair to be played with. He didn’t want Otabek to roll him over gently, kiss his cheek and whisper a quiet “Morning, my love.” Yuri didn’t love him. Not like that, not in the way that for one foolish moment Otabek allowed himself to believe.

This was cruel, and it was selfish, and if Otabek were a good man, he would’ve let him go. To relieve Yuri of this duty, this obligation to lay still and suffer this contact. If he were a good man, he would release him, and apologize to him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let him go. Not if this was the one taste he would ever get.

His arm tensed, locking up and pulling Yuri even tighter into his chest. The younger boy wheezed as he was squeezed and Otabek would just have to add that to the list of things to feel foolish and guilty over after this. After Yuri pulled himself away and showed him to the door, told him he’d had a good time but maybe they weren’t looking for the same things.

Otabek didn’t know he was crying until the ends of Yuri’s hair stuck wetly to his cheeks.

The blond shifted against him, perhaps feeling the hot wetness against his back.

“Beka, are you okay?” he asked hesitantly. Otabek could only shake his head, rubbing his forehead against his lily soft skin as a new volley of tears spilled silently and unbidden from his eyes. Eyes that would probably never see that gorgeous, trusting smile again, or that tempting, dangerous smirk. He would probably never be privy to Yuri’s snarky comments and startlingly intelligent analyses of the people around him. No more would he be the loyal best friend who never asked for more than his company and occasional kindness. It was all gone, ruined. Because Otabek couldn’t let go of a boy who didn’t want to be held.

He took a deep breath, and it sounded wet and nasally even to his own ears.

“Thank you,” he croaked out, his voice weak and heavy with the weight of morning.

“For what?” Yuri asked, twisting his head when it became clear that his partner was not about to loosen his grip.

“For letting me have this,” Otabek whispered, shame darkening his cheeks that were already glossed with embarrassing tears.

“What do you mean?” Yuri asked, shifting again and this time Otabek found the will to let him go, to peel himself away like ripping off a bandage. He flopped onto his back and covered his face with both hands, unable to watch how quickly Yuri would pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said from under his palms. “But thank you, for letting me have it, even for just a moment.” He told himself he could be grateful. He would have to be. There was no way he could ever regret a second spent touching Yuri’s skin.

“Beka, what are you talking about?” Yuri asked, and he sounded scared. The last thing he wanted was to scare the man. Otabek took another deep breath, this one clearer than the last, and wiped his face of tears. He sat up and turned to his bedmate.

Yuri was on his stomach, propped on both elbows, looking at Otabek with a brow pinched in concern and lips twisted into a frightened, little frown. His hair was still in a tangled ponytail at the back of his head and he looked so achingly beautiful, mused and imperfect in the morning light, Otabek thought he might just continue to weep, until he ran dry or Yuri somehow stopped being the most amazing creature he’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry, that was embarrassing,” he said honestly, his expression schooled into a mask of neutrality.

“What the fuck?” Yuri exclaimed, sitting up, unabashedly naked, tossing the blanket aside in frustration. “You say a bunch of sappy, confusing shit and then you give me _that_ look?”

“I’m sorry,” Otabek said again, softening whatever look he had that Yuri took offense too. He was worried the only other expression he could make presently was misery.

“Stop apologizing,” Yuri snapped at him, crossing his legs and crossing his arms. “We had sex last night, you told me you loved me, and now all you’ve been doing is thanking me and apologizing. It’s weird.”

“I never wanted to make you uncomfortable,” Otabek said, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Last night was a surprise and I wasn’t ready.” It was quiet for a beat, in which the Kazakh boy could only hear the racing of his own heart.

“You weren’t ready?” Yuri repeated worriedly, scooting towards him on the bed, looking like he wanted to reach out but not knowing how. “I’m sorry if I pushed you,” his voice was quiet and he gnawed at his bottom lip with nerves. “I thought that it was something we both wanted. I thought you wanted me, like that.”

“Yura, I want so much,” he confessed, catching his eye with a sincerity that couldn’t be faked. It was devastating and honest and he heard Yuri’s breath hitch in his throat, from the nickname or the admission, he didn’t know.

“Okay, that’s good,” he said, with a hesitant and sideways smile on his face, reaching out to touch Otabek’s thigh gently with his fingertips.

“I love you,” he blurted out again, because he must not understand, he must not understand how badly he needed him.

“I know,” Yuri said, face open and earnest, if confused. “I love you, too.”

Otabek’s face morphed into one of shock before his lips pressed tightly together for fear that he might cry again.

“You didn’t know?” Yuri asked breathlessly, eyes flickering all around his partner’s face, looking surprised before his features quickly soured with offense. “Did you really think I would take you to bed, knowing how you feel, if I didn’t feel the same way?”

“I didn’t think you knew,” Otabek said quietly, staring at Yuri like he couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips.

“You didn’t think I knew?” Yuri repeated, voice picking up in volume, with anger. “I thought we were together!” Otabek’s eyes shuddered open in shock, twice in one morning.

“But you hate relationships,” he protested. For some reason he was fighting these words he’d been praying for. They didn’t make sense. A fantasy was a fantasy, it wasn’t supposed to come true. “You think marriage is a sham and romance is for idiots.”

“Well, yeah, maybe for other people,” Yuri mumbled, poking at Otabek’s hands with a finger, waiting for them to fall open before tracing a loose pattern into his palm. “With you, though, it might be okay.”

The brunet let out a laugh, a gust of gratitude that might’ve been a cough or a sob, but it was a laugh because he was happy. He grabbed Yuri by the face and kissed him firmly, smiling against his lips with cheeks that were sticky from misunderstanding.

“I love you so much,” he confessed, though apparently it wasn’t necessary.

“I know,” Yuri said indulgently, tipping his head for another kiss.

“I’m going to kiss you all the time,” Otabek said against him. Yuri hummed a general sound of agreement, currently hanging off his partner’s lip by his teeth. “Everywhere,” Otabek clarified, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. To look his _boyfriend_ in the eye. “I want to kiss your cheeks and your nose and your forehead and your eyelids.” Yuri rolled his eyes but didn’t try to pull his face from Otabek’s hands. “I’m going to want to hold your hand, all the time. Even when you’re trying to eat. And I’m going to cuddle you.”

“Will you cry every time?” Yuri snarked at him, reaching forward to tweak one of his nipples teasingly.

“We will never speak of that again,” Otabek said, trying for his usual stoicism, but his giddy happiness stealing back across his cheeks. The Russian just laughed and leaned forward to kiss him again, seemingly as amazed by the privilege as the other skater was as receiving it. “Құдай, it’s like a dream,” he said quietly, as if afraid to wake himself up.

“Is this how your dream usually go?” Yuri asked, rising up to his knees and sliding himself into Otabek’s lap.

“Yes,” he answered honestly, his face finally settled back into his normal serenity, his smile evident only at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hands settled on his boyfriend’s naked hips like they were made to fall there. “You are always beautiful.” He kissed him. “And you always tell me you love me.”

Yuri kissed him, sweetly and achingly tender.

“It’s not a dream,” he promised. “It’s better.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unwritten and undiscussed is the idea that Yuri woke up before Otabek, realized he was being aggressively cuddled, and tried to be as still as possible, so Otabek wouldn't move or wake up. He thought there might be more to this cuddling thing after all, and wondered why Beka had never suggested it before if he liked it so much. He didn't want to do anything to fuck it up.


End file.
